Title: Soul Asylum
Author: Cobweb
Rating: R (for language and a bit of disturbing
imagery)
Disclaimer: They belong to Joss.
Summary: Spike and his soul are put face-to-face. A choice is made.
Feedback: Please?
Distribution: All who have mine may take. All else,
just tell me where.
Notes: Yes, the title does come from the band of the same name, whom I listened to while writing this.
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"So... here we are. Together again."
"..."
"Y'know it hasn't been pleasant here."
William shifted, grimacing at the pain he had endured for nearly two centuries. It was almost the only thing he could feel anymore. His arms had gone numb after only a matter of hours; he'd been without them for thousands. The silver nails dug further into his wrists, which were already held to the crucifix by only two thin threads of flesh. His feet had a mummified appearance, nailed through the ankles, bound together.
"Didn't know exactly what had happened to you." Spike finally spoke, staring into blue eyes that mimicked his own, though only one pair held the depth of a soul.
"Well, now you know. Congratulations. You've condemned us both."
Spike scowled, staring with the intensity that only hollowness could muster the courage for.
"It wasn't my choice. She killed us both. Out of love."
"Out of hate."
"You're wrong."
"Then so are you."
"Don't try to fuck with my mind. I know how you think."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
Silence.
"I would have loved her."
Spike snorted. "Figures."
"You seem disappointed."
"About what? That you could be such a weak sod?"
"Maybe. Or maybe you're jealous."
"Jealous?" He nearly laughed out right. "Jealous of what? Of this?" He gestured to the chains and nails that bound the other man. "Yeah, mate, you've done real good for yourself."
"Likewise."
"I'm not the one strewn from a stick now, am I?"
"A stick that can kill you. I've been here for two hundred years. I survived. I'd like to see your strength in such a situation."
"I thought you were my strength?"
"I thought I was your weakness?"
"..."
"It's not too late, you know."
"What?"
"You're there, I'm here. Look in your pocket."
Spike searched his duster, extracting a shard of antiqued metal. William looked down at the object, then back up at him.
"You have the key. You can set us both free."
"I am free."
"You're not."
"I am!"
"Prove it. Prove it to me. Show me how free you really are. Show her."
"Not my cup of tea."
"Don't be afraid to try something new."
"I'm not afraid of anything."
"Oh, but you are. You fear your freedom. You fear love. More than anything else. You fear weakness. You fear shame. You fear what keeps you bound to this... this existence," he spat out the last word. "Face your fears."
"Then face yours. I am you now. You look at me, and you see yourself. You see what was always inside of you that you were too bloody soft to show to the world."
"I see that I've been forced against my will. Since when has William the Bloody ever been forced to do something he didn't want to?"
"You had a choice. You left because you were weak."
"I left because I was drawn and quartered from your life. What little there is to it now."
"You lie."
"No. That's your territory."
"I won't give you the satisfaction--"
"Then give it to yourself, you selfish bastard!"
"...I can't love her."
"You can. You will. You do."
"No!"
"Say her name. Think of her."
"No!"
"Her smile. Her innocence."
"No!"
"Her eyes. Her warmth. Her hair."
"She would never have me! She's too... she's too..."
"Good for you?"
"In the sickening sense. I'm evil. I'm the bad guy."
"And still she sees through that."
"..."
"I've seen her before. Just for a moment. Barely a glimpse. Because she chose to see me."
"Then she doesn't want to see me."
"Damn it! It's not her fault! You are so bloody blind--"
"I can plainly see everything wrong with this. I'm not stupid."
"Yes, you are. You're not the cursed one. Why do you shove happiness away?"
Spike closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, willing away the sting in his eyes. Rage swelled in his belly, spreading like an inferno through his body. The demon within him screamed in protest as it burned, writhing and thrashing about violently. With a sudden roar, Spike threw himself toward his mirror image, ignoring the sharp heat of the cross. His hands gripped tightly at the nails that bound the wrists of his soul and pulled them out with a hiss of pain coming from both. In one swift, fluid motion, he bent and yanked the nail from the soul's feet from the flesh. William came tumbling down on top of him, too weak from centuries of torment to hold himself up. Both splayed on the ground, arms outstretched, feet resting on one another. Spike felt as if he were about to explode with the immense flame of the position. He felt like he was... melting. Into William. Melding, with the one possession that had escaped him for nearly two hundred years. He choked with the pain, unable to move, his vision, his body, all bleeding together, until there was nothing left to see but red.
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